


OscarMiles Drabbles

by jay_of_the_beholder



Category: Role Initiative
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bring On the Men (Jekyll and Hyde), But For Elves, Canon Gay Character, Dancing and Singing, Dreams, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Getting On Tables, Hips, Homoeroticism, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Meditation Deprivation, Mild Language, Miles is doing his best, Miles is sad, Minor descriptions of injuries, Mutual Pining, Oscar Wilde but it's my d&d character, Oscar is an idiot, Oscar is only nice when he's not in his right mind, Pining, Self-Hatred, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepy Cuddles, Slight Undressing, Taverns, Wounds, general fun times - Freeform, this is totally platonic guys definitely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jay_of_the_beholder/pseuds/jay_of_the_beholder
Summary: Some drabbles about Oscar and Miles from Role Initiative. From Oscar's perspective because I play him.
Relationships: Oscar Barron & Miles Thorngage (Role Initiative)
Kudos: 2
Collections: A Compilation of OscarMiles





	1. Bring On the Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar dances on some tables, and possibly single-handedly kills Miles (he'll be fine).

It’s irritatingly hot.

The silk really isn’t doing it for him right now, as he turns dramatically to hop on top of one of the wooden tables that litter the tavern. He knows exactly where his companion is sitting in relation to his current position, so he strips himself of the purple silk with a flourish and tosses it in that direction. His coat lands near enough to Miles that he needn’t worry about someone taking it.

Oscar’s voice resonates around the tavern, lovely when mixed with the jovial tune being played by the instrumentalists on the other side of the room. All eyes are on him, and he basks in it. With a wide gesture, he focuses his voice and a bright light explodes over his head. Small sparks of light fizz over the heads of his audience, and appreciative noises and clapping can be heard around him. He smiles winningly during a small instrumental break as the music slows, then carefully steps down from the table onto a chair, then onto the floor.

His hips sway naturally to the music as he stalks across the floor, weaving gracefully around tables as he begins to sing again. His tones turn low and seductive as he makes purposeful eye contact with select gentlemen around him, throwing a wink at one (who blushes despite the woman hanging off of his arm glaring at him). The song begins to rise again and he rises with it, stepping up onto another table and smiling daintily at the gnome who moves his drink out of Oscar’s way.

He feels so much better with his coat off.

With one hand he tugs the ribbon around his neck off, twirling and allowing it to trail behind him. At the last moment he lets it go, pleased at his spacial awareness as it lands squarely on Miles’ head. He smirks at the halfling’s expression, an amusing thought coming to mind.

Sure, he can shake things up a bit.

Oscar runs a hand through his hair as the music swells again, shaking it out and stepping down from the table. He makes a brisk pace over to the table his companion sits at, clutching his coat and watching him with a variety of expressions Oscar can’t quite place. Instead of getting up on the table, he sits on it, chuckling a bit between lyrics at the start Miles gives when he does. He kicks one leg over the other, draping an arm over the lifted knee. It’s not the easiest feat to sing like this, but he leans on his side and shakes his hair out of his face, grinning wickedly at his blushing companion.

Oscar doesn’t pay it too much mind, he tends to have that effect on people.

After some prolonged eye contact he abruptly stands, finishing the song with a final cast of minor illusion and a drawn out note. The moment before the applause is always Oscar’s favorite. When he catches his breath and the air stills for just a second.

The room erupts into cheers and applause and he breathes, taking a bow and blowing small kisses to the general audience. The band starts up again and the chatter resumes, so Oscar steps down from the table and collapses in the empty chair next to Miles.

“Well that was fun,” he huffs, running a hand through his hair and casting prestidigitation as he does. His locks return to their perfect coiff and the sweat that had begun to shine on his brow dissipates.

When he looks over at Miles, his face returns to an amused smirk.

“I suppose you enjoyed it then?”

The halfling has his mouth hanging open a bit, but snaps it shut when Oscar acknowledges him directly.

“I-I mean-it was-h-” the poor thing can’t seem to get many words out, so instead pushes a bundle of purple fabric with a ribbon placed neatly on top towards him. “I got your coat.”

Oscar’s smile turns a bit more genuine. “Thank you. I knew you’d keep it safe for me.” The last part is a bit offhand, but Miles smiles at it nonetheless.

“Of course! But next time warn me before you just… throw things at me.”

It’s a fair request, but Oscar lets out a barking laugh.

“And interrupt a song to say ‘Melman! Catch!’”

“It’s Miles...”

“That’s what I said. Anyway there’s no promises there. You’ll simply have to be prepared for anything.” His eyes brighten. “In fact, it’s quite a useful life skill! Look at that, I’m even teaching you something.”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Sure, Oscar.”

He nods once, content, and orders a glass of wine to finish the night. Thankfully, no one seems in the mood to approach him, but perhaps it’s because he’s loudly teasing and arguing with his halfling companion. Oscar has a brief flash of memory; a long time ago. The last time he had a proper friend.

He didn’t care if anyone else talked to him back then, and a similar feeling arises now. And as he listens to Miles ramble amiably about the lyrics of the song he’d sung…

He realizes that he misses having a friend. Maybe it’s not so bad.


	2. Masking His Shards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar hates the mask he wears, but he can't find it in himself to take it off for Miles.

The crickets are loud.

He lies on his side, the remnants of the dying fire a dim glow behind his closed eyelids. He can feel his final prestidigitation spell of the day wear off, and resists the urge to take off his mask, which by this point is getting quite sweaty and uncomfortable. His left ear is smothered by the pillow, and despite the right being just as muffled...

...the crickets are so damn loud.

He never heard them before he left, not really. His bedroom being on a high floor swept him away from the sounds of the outside world fairly easily, and Newgate had been surrounded by stone and he’d be damned if there was any semblance of life in that place save for the inmates. No, crickets had never bothered him before. But as he meditated, he swore up and down that the sound would interrupt him, and he’d go yet another night without proper restoration.

His companion likely hadn’t noticed yet, as he had ensured that his handy spell erased any darkness under his eyes, and he healed himself often enough that his demeanor was not bogged down by lack of rest. Still, it’s only a matter of time. The halfling seems quite observant for his apparent lack of intelligence, and Oscar feels that perhaps there is more to him than meets the eye. Miles has a knack for reading people, though not in the way Oscar does. While he knows how people feel in relation to him, Miles seems to know how people feel in relation to themself.

It’s incredibly selfless, and it makes Oscar itch.

He refuses to peek open his eye to glare across the fire at the halfling he knows is resting there, mainly because it’s smothered in the pillow. It’s simply petty, and Oscar has better things to spend his time on. Mainly regaining his health and spells, as both had been running quite low. Thankfully, they had not been attacked by much while in the forest, but a few close scrapes can go a long way; not to mention the bandits they had encountered the day before. They hadn’t lasted long, but Oscar found himself nursing a nasty gash across his arm afterwards.

A soft rustling disturbs his thoughts. The footsteps are trying to be quiet, but Oscar still has one good ear and it’s well trained. He is silent, waiting to see if the footsteps come nearer or fade off. When the former happens, he has to admit he’s surprised.

A small weight settles near his head, the shadow blocking the dim firelight. Oscar hears a bit of fabric shifting, and feels something moving towards his face. In a single motion his hand shoots out and grabs the wrist of the halfling reaching toward him.

“I  _ wouldn’t _ do that, if I were you.” He turns his head to train an eye on Miles, who let out quite a loud shriek.

“Oscar! I didn’t--I didn’t know-- why are you awake?” Miles looks frantically between Oscar’s face and his own wrist, and Oscar realizes he’s holding on a bit too tight.

He sighs, letting his wrist go and reaching a hand up to rub his eye. He sits up simultaneously, the masked half of his face purposefully turned away from Miles.

“I don’t sleep,” he states, and he sees Miles frown.

“What?”

He nearly draws it out, just to see how concerned he can get the halfling to be. Perhaps it’s a combination of fatigue and a lack of motivation that causes him to simply reach up and tuck his hair behind one now pointed ear.

“Don’t need to.”

Oscar feels a bit of pride swell as Miles’ eyes widen, knowing that his status is everything to be surprised about, however he quells the feeling and allows his hair to fall. It’s getting long, he’s going to have to tie it back soon.

“That’s… uhm,” Miles pushes his own hair out of his face and, while in desaturated tones, Oscar sees a flush rising on his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles somewhat wolfishly. “Whatever for?”

The halfling covers his face for a moment, then breathes heavily into his palms. Oscar knows this form of irritation intimately well, as he causes it on a near hourly basis.

“For trying to… you know.”

Oscar throws him a bone, it’s the least he can do. “There is a very specific reason I wear a mask, and it’s not just because I enjoy how it looks.” He grins. “Although I do.”

“It can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s not.” He waves his hand dismissively. “But sometimes the things that are necessary are not within our comfort zone. Thus is life.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Miles; dear, sweet Miles retorts. “You don’t have to wear it.”

Oscar’s grin turns quite condescending. “I assure you, I do. Now, I may not need sleep but you look properly exhausted. How about instead of attempting to invade my privacy while I seem unconscious,” Miles winces at that, “you get some sleep.”

The halfling looks like he wants to protest, but he’s not surprised when Miles simply sighs and makes his way back to his bedroll. Oscar sits for a while longer, watching the dying embers in near monochrome with the eye not covered by his mask.

“We all have scars.” He almost doesn’t hear it, the soft mumble of Miles’ voice across the charred remains. “You don’t have to hide yours behind a mask.” Somehow, Oscar thinks he’s not just talking about physical remnants. He allows himself only a moment to ponder this, before stashing it safely away.

There is a sour taste in his mouth when no snide comments come to mind, and he is forced to respond the only way he can. “Again, I assure you that I do.” He’s not sure why it’s quite easy to be more honest to this halfling. Not completely honest, far from it. But honest enough. Miles rolls onto his side and looks at him with wide eyes, his glasses tilting a bit as they meet resistance from the makeshift pillow.

“It doesn’t cover all of them.”

Oscar blinks. “What?”

“It doesn’t cover all of them. Your scars.” Miles brings a finger to the bridge of his own nose and, impossibly, Oscar can feel the mark he knows is on his nose twinge a bit. “You can’t hide forever, Oscar.”

The words hit him harder than they were meant to.

“I don’t need forever,” he says, and hears his voice come out harsh and cold. “I just need tomorrow.”

He can’t lay on the opposite side. His arm still aches and his mask will press harder against his face if he lays on it. Grumpily, he chooses to get up and walk a little ways away, sitting himself with his back to the fire and his companion and closing his eyes. He hears a soft “goodnight” and some rustling.

A few minutes later a soft snoring fills the air.

Oscar sighs heavily, reaching up to take off the uncomfortable cover, and setting it in his lap. He mindlessly reaches for the thick leather pouch hanging off of the side of his belt. He casts Mage Hand, allowing it to reach in and take out the sharp fragment he doesn’t dare try to grab it with his hands anymore, after being cut a few too many times.

His reflection stares back, and only months of building up a fragile immunity keeps him from gagging. He still feels a bit sick, but regardless looks himself over. He really should meditate properly. He’ll be of no use by the end of tomorrow and what good will that do either of them. And of course his thoughts remain on  _ either of them _ , because now he has someone else to worry about.

No, not worry. Just to consider.

Miles is nothing like the face he sees flicker in the mirror for a moment. The face in the mirror is hard, cold, and contains none of the warmth Oscar knows is fading from his memory more each day. The face in the mirror is pale and ghostly, and his eyes are like ice sending chills down his spine.

But Miles.

Miles is only warmth. His eyes carry mirth and youth, while still managing to be quite experienced and worn. His ears flush far too often, and Oscar has seen him wipe his palms on more than one occasion, even in neutral temperatures. His skin is warm tones and his hair reminds Oscar of dark chocolates and the wood of deep forests... he nearly doesn’t catch himself waxing poetic. Tugging the reins back to his small cocoon of self-loathing, Oscar finally closes his eyes and stills. He hums a soft tune, the hand holding the shard puts it gently back into the pouch before disappearing.

Perhaps it’s his imagination, but the crickets seem to quiet a bit as he hums. So naturally, he continues. He produces the notes of a song he wrote while incarcerated, feeling the familiar medley vibrate through his throat and float through the air.

It’s odd to sing now. It sounds different when the resounding vocals are only half as prominent, and the way his skin tugs around his mouth is nigh uncomfortable. Still, he sings. Not loudly, certainly not loudly enough to wake his companion. But he sings.

It feels normal, somehow. Sitting in the open and pouring out his heart to the creatures of the forest. Different, certainly, but normal. And while the lyrics he sings mean very little to any curious ears, he feels them resonate and spread across the space.

Perhaps his view of himself is skewed in more ways than he can count (and he can count fairly high) and perhaps his voice, while trained and quite good, does not have the power on it’s own that it holds with magic.

But it’s enough to distract Oscar from those damn crickets, and that’s good enough for him.


	3. Too Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar's thoughts are NOT preoccupied by the halfling they had left briefly behind. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Oscar POV for the drabble that C wrote: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674461/chapters/59627119

Oscar pretended not to see the disappointment on Miles' face as they left, tried to convince himself that the reason he was the last one through the door was because he's a back-seat spellcaster and not because he considered throwing one last comment to the halfling before they left. It wasn't that at all.

His mind did not drift as music flowed from his lips and carried harm towards their foes, and his steps did not falter as the party cast aside the inferiors as if discarding waste. He was the first to return, though merely because he had been the last to exit.

But, try as he might to convince himself otherwise, his heart dropped as he saw the small form curled against the wall, bleeding from several areas and clutching a pack which he rests his head on. Oscar's nails dig into his palms as he approaches, his hands itching to reach out. He does so, though not to Miles but to his pack, digging through it to give his hands something to do. He still tries to be quiet, he knows Miles needs a bit of rest.

He tries to make a mental list of everything he still has, and just about manages to collect his thoughts long enough to do so, when he is so irritatingly dragged out once again by shifting and a soft groan.

Refusing to be guilty about waking the halfling up, he gives in and reaches a hand out to muss Miles' hair. Without much thought, he also hums an inaudible tune under his breath. He half hopes Miles can feel the small pulse of magic he sends through his touch.

"He's alive!" he shouts, a bit louder than necessary.

"Oh, thank goodness," Acheron responds, still bandaging up the kid. Oscar doesn't miss the small look of irritation Acheron shoots at him, but elects to ignore it.

"How do you feel?" He tries to make the question nonchalant, but at a glance he can see that sleep has done the halfling some good. Still, open wounds and bruises dance with his already pockmarked and freckled flesh, and resists the urge to frown at it.

Miles hums softly, reaching up to rub his eyes before wincing. "Bit better, I s'pose."

Oscar tilts his head. "May I?" he asks politely, reaching out for Miles' hand.

Miles gives him an odd look, then places his hand slowly in Oscar's outstretched one.

Oscar ignores anything that arises at that, choosing instead to sing a few words to one of his favorite campfire songs. Miles might have sang it once, he'd have to ask about that. Slowly, the cuts begin to fade a bit and he sees Miles' eyes close as he sings. It reminds him of--

His voice cuts off then, and he pulls away, forcing a smile onto his face. "There. That should help."

Miles looks up at him, then down at his hands. "Ah. Thanks."

Oscar crouches to pick up his pack, slinging it over his shoulder. "Don't mention it." He turns on his heel and makes an offhand comment about double checking for any loot they may have missed, striding through the doorway before any comments can be made.

Too close, again. He's really going to have to work on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oscar pls.


	4. But You're My World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar gets drunk and Miles gets them a room.

The tavern is just a bit too crowded for how many drinks Oscar has downed tonight. His head begins to pound with the upbeat music coming from the bards near the bar, and his vision is far too blurry to be comfortable. Still, let no man say Oscar Barron can’t handle himself drunk.

But he’d much rather be alone to do it.

Unfortunately his companion is keen on catching his attention at every possible moment, presently saying something about a bed.  _ Beds are quite nice, _ Oscar thinks.  _ Especially when they’re your own. _ Yet another unfortunate thing about his current situation, Oscar doesn’t own a bed. Had he gotten a room yet? Not likely; he tends to expect an overnight guest these days.

Now he’s got Miles. Which isn’t quite the same, but his companion does technically count as an overnight guest. Had Miles gotten them a room?

“Of course I got us a room, ’m not an idiot,” the halfling answers as if he’d spoken the thought. Perhaps he had. “It’s only got one bed, but I can sleep on the floor it’s no trouble--”

“No need.” Oscar interrupts grandly, lowering his voice only slightly when the sound of it hurts his head. “I’ve shared a bed with plenty of people before.” He throws a wink in for good measure, but Miles merely stares at him and sputters a bit. Oscar wonders if he’s alright briefly, it’s typically unusual for these sorts of reactions to occur from someone not interested in him. However, his companion regains his composure and surprises Oscar by agreeing with him.

“Fine, we’ll share. But only because my back hurts from carrying this pack around and you’re drunk off your arse.”

“I’m only  _ slightly _ intoxicated, my dear companion.”

Miles rolls his eyes and stands from his chair, thanking the waitress who takes his glass. “Then come on, Oscar. I’m sure you can walk up to the room with no problem.”

Oscar huffs at the challenge and stands. Far too fast, though, because the world begins to tilt. Somehow, a small pair of hands at his waist is enough to steady him.

“Idiot,” Miles says softly. “Come on.” Oscar feels himself being led across the tavern and up the stairs, which really takes more effort than it should. It might help if he wasn’t hell-bent on walking on his own, instead allowing Miles to help him, but he has a reputation for gods’ sakes. A reputation that cannot be tarnished by his inability to walk without leaning on a halfling for support.

He leans heavily on said halfling for the rest of the way after nearly falling backwards down the stairs. His reaction is based solely on the fact that he cannot afford to add yet another injury to his collection, and not because of Miles’ scared face when he had regained his balance. They make it to the room and Miles opens the door, leading him inside to the bed.

He sits heavily, glancing around but not really processing anything but the halfling closing and locking the door.

“It’s cosy,” he remarks, standing awkwardly near the door.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “it’ll do.” He takes out his mask and clumsily puts it on, before snapping his fingers and humming a short tune. His clothing shifts into something more comfortable, and he feels his face grow _ un _ comfortable under the mask. A fair trade, he supposes, kicking off his boots and laying down properly. He turns away from where Miles is standing to allow him some privacy, and stares at the empty bed next to him. Unusual, certainly, but not unwelcome.

After a while, far longer than it should take for Miles to change clothes, he hears a thump and some shuffling. Tentatively, he turns around to see the halfling setting up a bedroll on the floor.

“Is the bed not sufficient?”

Miles shoots him a strange look. “I’d rather sleep on the floor.” He doesn’t seem convinced of his own words.

Oscar swings his legs over the bed and stands, making his way clumsily towards Miles. Sitting on the floor next to him, he taps the planks with his knuckles a couple of times.

“Not very comfy down here.”

Miles shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“Your back hurts.”

He gets a surprised glance. “You… I…”

Oscar waves him off. “Yes, yes. I listen to you sometimes. My point is, the floor is hard and the bed is soft. I  _ could _ weave those words into my own sort of web but I’m really too tired and drunk to come up with anything clever.”

Miles merely stares at him, so he sighs and holds out a hand. It takes a moment for the halfling to take it, but when he does, Oscar lightly pulls him up from the floor, attempting to lead him to the bed smoothly but only managing to nearly trip over a loose floorboard.

“Oscar!” Miles scolds, grabbing his shirt and tugging him back upright. “Be careful!”

“Wouldn’t be walking around if you’d just come to bed,” he retorts, though teasingly. He smiles at the light pink that dusts Miles’ cheeks. “Plus,” he sighs, settling into the soft pillows once again, “you do need to take care of yourself.”

Miles walks around the bed and hops up, climbing under the covers. “I do.”

Oscar’s eyes drift close and he hums, folding his hands over his stomach. “Sometimes.”

“I do!” Miles repeats impertinently, and Oscar tilts his head to glance at him.

“We’re both shit at it. But it’s the small things that count, you know.”

Miles looks at him for a long moment. “You must have had more wine than I thought.”

He blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Miles shrugs. “You never say stuff like that.”

Oscar huffs.

“You should get drunk more often,” Miles mumbles, closing his eyes. “You’re nicer.”

“I can be nice when I’m sober,” he protests, though softly so as to not break the atmosphere that has settled over them.

“Then why not do it more often?” It’s not meant to hurt Oscar, but he still feels a pang of guilt hearing the words.

“Because...” he takes a breath, feeling the small pouch on his belt grow heavy at his side, “because the world walks over nice people. And I won’t let the world walk over me.”

Miles hums, a frown on his face. “‘m not the world, Oscar,” he murmurs. Oscar falls silent, and soon the only sound is Miles’ faint snores. And if anyone knew what he was thinking, he’d blame it on the wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But you're my world" because Oscar is so gay and I have 0 self control.


	5. Saving You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles is acting unusual today, but since when has Oscar ever been good at feelings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pure self-indulgent fluff, but apparently that can only happen when Oscar's not in his right mind. Read the tags.

Miles is sad.

Oscar can tell from the moment he wakes up that something is off. Miles is quietly putting his bedroll away, occasionally brushing his hands across the grass as if he’s finding something to hold onto. Oscar watches him as he does so, watching as Miles’ eyes occasionally grow dark, before a quick few blinks and a slight shake of the head returns him to looking nearly as normal as he usually does. This happens a couple of times as they pack away their small camp, and Oscar wonders if he should ask what’s going on. Instead, he maneuvers around the question.

“Lovely day today. Great to travel.”

Miles starts at his voice, but gives a short hum in response. “Yeah. Should be able to get to the next town by…” he spares a glance at his map, and Oscar peeks over at it as well, “I’d say a little after midday.”

“Perfect,” he says brightly. “Plenty of time to explore.”

“Meet new people,” Miles continues.

“Hopefully visit some shops. My gloves are horribly worn down.”

Miles looks at them, then at him. “They have a hole in the thumb.”

“Exactly!”

“That’s not worn down.”

Oscar huffs teasingly. “It most certainly is. How is my thumb supposed to stay clean and warm when there’s a hole in the glove?”

Miles simply shakes his head, and Oscar feels the question come out regardless of if he wants it to.

“What’s going on?”

“Hm?” Miles looks up at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“You’re… different today. More pensive. Reserved. What’s going on?”

Miles consciously smiles at him, and Oscar nearly winces at the juxtaposition of the smile on his face and the sadness in his eyes. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all.”

And so Oscar leaves it. Because what is he supposed to do about that? He’s only known Miles for a little under two weeks. It’s not as if they’re friends, much less close enough to share what’s bothering them. Oscar certainly hasn’t shared much about his past, he shouldn’t expect Miles to be more open.

Still, as they walk, Oscar finds himself glancing over every once in a while to make sure he’s holding up alright. Occasionally, he catches Miles absentmindedly touching the scars on his cheek, apparently deep in thought. The small frown on Miles’ face would be endearing to Oscar if he was at all interested, and seeing the halfling so comfortable with his scars makes a sick feeling bubble in Oscar’s chest. He looks away quickly each time, certainly not keen on stewing in the feeling for too long.

Part of him is jealous. No one looks at Miles the way they look at him. Their eyes ghost over the halfling as if he’s not even there, and Oscar notices how Miles leans into that and uses it to slip by without causing trouble. And, if he’s being honest, he wishes his past looked more attractive on him. The pockmarked scars on his face, though seemingly tragic, look right at home with the freckles and the small beauty marks that litter Miles’ face and Oscar’s sure the rest of him, though he doesn’t spend too long on that thought.

Miles is a storybook, and Oscar desperately wants to know what stories he contains. However, he knows he can’t ask. He’d have to give something in return, and he’s absolutely certain that if Miles knew what horrible things he’d done, he’d lose the halfling as soon as they reached the next town. Still, the small voice in the back of Oscar’s mind urges him to share, urges him to give Miles a good reason to let him go.

And he knows today is not the day Miles wants to hear about Oscar. They’ve both got their own things going on, and Oscar isn’t going to be the one to open up first.

“Can we stop here for a moment?” Miles asks hesitantly, jerking him out of his thoughts. He realizes the halfling has fallen behind a bit, and immediately regrets not being aware of his walking speed.

“Certainly, there’s a clearing right over here.”

They make their way over, Miles sitting down in the grass and digging through his bag, while Oscar lays out a large piece of fabric and places himself on it.

“Are you all good on rations?” the halfling inquires. Oscar genuinely forgets, so he digs around in his own bag for a moment before finding some at the bottom.

“Yeah, should be alright for today. I’ll probably pick some more up once we get into town.”

“You could just share mine, I have plenty.”

Oscar huffs out a short laugh. “That’s alright, I’m perfectly capable of securing my own sustenance.”

Miles hums in acknowledgement, focusing his attention on his food. Oscar watches him for a moment, before pulling out his own rations. They eat in silence, listening to the birds singing and the leaves rustling in the wind. It’s peaceful here, Oscar wonders if he’d ever get to a point where he could live in a clearing like this. Somewhere away from his family, away from his old life. Perhaps with someone.

_ Only in a storybook _ , Oscar scolds himself.  _ That doesn’t happen here. _

“You a’right?” Miles asks, drawing Oscar’s attention back to him.

And hell, a little honesty couldn’t hurt.

“I’m thinking about storybooks.”

Miles cracks a genuine smile for the first time that day, and Oscar feels a bubble of warmth in his chest.

“What about ‘em?”

Oscar shrugs. “They’re pretty lies. Eloquently worded, pretty lies.”

And Miles frowns. And the feeling in Oscar’s chest is replaced with something uncomfortable. Maybe honesty won’t do him much good.

“Still nice to think about,” he attempts to recover. “Stories of people who find love. Who are happy with their lives at the end and they settle into a place and make a home.”

The halfling watches him curiously. “And you think those are lies?”

Oscar shrugs. “Certainly not the truth. I’ve never seen anything like it outside of a storybook.”

Miles blinks. “Maybe you’re not looking hard enough.”

He gives the halfling an unconvinced hum. “Or maybe it’s just not true.”

Miles huffs. “Pessimist.”

“Do _ you _ believe in true love?” he asks. “Happy endings?”

“Yes!” Miles says with exasperation, as if that were obvious. “At least I think that someone’s found it. Maybe it’s not for everyone, but I like to think that some people are happy with their lives.”

Oscar smiles a bit, though sadly.

“Don’t give me that look,” Miles says suddenly. “Please don’t.”

Oscar frowns. “What look?”

Miles gestures vaguely at his face, shaking his head. “Just, pity. Don’t pity me for thinking the world still has some good left in it.”

He realizes then just how little he knows about Miles, and just how naive he’d thought the halfling was.

“I’m sorry,” he says genuinely.

Miles waves him off. “‘S’fine Oscar. Let’s get moving again?”

He nods and stands, Miles following suit as he folds the fabric back up and puts it away. He begins to hum as they walk, a song he hopes Miles finds familiar, and is pleased when the halfling takes out his lyre and begins to play the tune on it. It’s a small thing, sure, but Oscar feels something akin to happiness wash over him as the music connects them both.

\---

They do reach the town a bit after midday, and it is bustling. Oscar sings a couple notes and redoes his hair, changing his eyes to a dark brown. Miles notices, but doesn’t say anything, instead pointing to a colorful cart with accessories adorning it. “You needed gloves, right?”

Oscar smiles, leading them over to the cart and getting a nice pair of white silk gloves. He ignores the dwindling change in his pouch.

The tavern isn’t full, per say, but it certainly isn’t short of patrons. The day passes as the two of them explore, remaining near each other even though the choice to go off on their own is there. Still, Oscar enjoys being dragged into a random shop that had a cute looking plant in the window, or one that supposedly sells pastries that make your tongue change colors (Oscar had demonstrated that prestidigitation could do that just as easily, but Miles insisted on seeing the pastries anyway).

He especially enjoys the fact that Miles seems to brighten up significantly as the day goes on, supposedly having plenty to distract him from whatever thoughts had been plaguing him that morning. The day wears on and they begin to tire, deciding to head back to the tavern and grab a place to stay for the night. Unfortunately, they’ve managed to make it to the other side of town and now have to walk back.

Fortunately, Oscar has a much happier companion to keep him company.

“And the shop owner was so nice! I wish you had come in there was this purple cloak you would have liked--”

“I have a purple tailcoat already,” Oscar teases, pretending he’s not seriously considering going back and spending the rest of his money.

“Well  _ yeah _ , but cloaks are cool.”

“They are indeed.” He means to continue the conversation, but he feels something odd. Miles continues to walk and talk, but Oscar tunes him out and glances around. There’s less people on the street now than earlier; expected with the fading daylight. But there’s a prickle on the back of his neck. He glances away from Miles to peer down an alley.

Nothing.

_ Huh. _ He shrugs, turning back to his companion. Who… doesn’t appear to be there. Oscar spins around, glancing at the closing shops and the empty street.

“Miles?” he calls, figuring the halfling had just gotten ahead a bit. He probably got caught up talking, didn’t realize Oscar wasn’t behind him anymore. Surely that’s it--

A shout comes from another alley just behind him, and Oscar recognizes the voice that cries out.

He runs over, nearly stumbling on the cobbled road.  _ Damn these heels. _ The scene in front of him plays in black and white, and Oscar is nearly thankful for the fact that he can’t see the red color running down Miles’ face.

“Oscar!” his relieved voice is cut off by a kick in the stomach from the large man standing over him. The man turns to Oscar, and a sour look crosses his face.

“Move along. Nothing to see here.”

“I’m sorry, we must have a misunderstanding,” Oscar says pleasantly, making his way into the alley. “See, when someone is in an alley hurting someone else, that’s something to see.” He smiles at the man’s brows creasing. “And when that someone else is a friend of mine, I think that’s my business.”

“Oscar… it’s fine,” Miles mutters, a hand clutched to his head and blood dripping from it.

“You should listen to your friend. Move on. He’ll be along soon.”

Oscar feels a low anger in the pit of his stomach, and takes a breath. He channels it up, feeling the familiar seedlings of magic flowing from his lips.

“Perhaps  _ you  _ should move along. I doubt you’d want anyone to see your spineless ass picking on someone who’s smaller and weaker than you. It must feel  _ wonderful _ to know that the only person you’re strong enough to confront is a helpless halfling walking down the street.” He smiles as the words bury themselves into the man. “ _ Your cowardice appalls me. _ ” Magic dashes across the alley and connects with the man, who glares at Oscar as the words take effect.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” the man growls, charging at Oscar. He throws a fist and OScar isn’t quick enough to dodge it as it collides with his nose. He stumbles back, pain blinding him momentarily as he feels warmth running down his face. He swears, casting prestidigitation as he hears a shout from the man.

He blinks and looks up to see that Miles has plunged a dagger into the man’s arm, pulling it out and stumbling backwards breathlessly. Oscar takes the opening and draws his rapier. The sound alerts the man, who turns to see his weapon.

And, unsurprisingly, the man runs. He shoves past Oscar, pushing him to the ground, before running out of the alley. Oscar swears again as he catches his fall with his wrist, feeling it twist in a way that can’t be good. He grasps it, biting back sounds of pain and attempting to regain his composure.

Something touches his shoulder and he feels a bit of warmth flood him. His head clears and he sees Miles staring over him with a concerned look and blood drying on the side of his face. Without thinking, he reaches up a hand to touch Miles’ cheek.

“Are you alright?” More feeling than he intends is poured into the words as the spell takes hold, and he sees the wound begin to close up.

“‘M’fine.” Miles says, though Oscar knows the true meaning of the words all too well.

“Let’s get back to the tavern,” he suggests, attempting to sit up and ignoring the pain that flares between his eyes.

Miles nods, and they help each other stand, making their way out of the alley.

\---

“Hold still!” Oscar scolds, touching the cloth to Miles’ head. “I’m just trying to clean it up.”

“It stings,” Miles protests, squirming again. “I can do it myself--”

“Hold. Still.” Oscar places a firm hand on Miles’ jaw, stilling his head enough to wipe away the blood. “There. Was that so hard?” He steps away to wash the cloth as Miles mumbles something under his breath. Oscar winces as he squeezes the damp material, feeling his wrist flare up.

“Oscar, is your wrist hurt?”

He huffs out a short breath, putting on a small smile. “It’ll be fine.”

Miles gives him an irritated look, grabbing some bandages and holding out his other hand.

“Let me see.”

Oscar sighs, walking over to the bed and sitting down. “It’s not too bad-- ah!” He winces as Miles presses a finger on his wrist.

“It’s sprained,” he halfling states, unrolling the bandages and beginning to tentatively wrap Oscar’s hand. He sings as he does, and the only reason Oscar feels better is because of the magic flowing through him, and certainly not the sound of his companion’s voice.

He begins to lose himself in the sound of Miles singing and the steady pressure of his hand being wrapped, so it’s only once it stops that OScar realizes his eyes are closed.

“Tired?” Miles asks as he opens them again.

“Mm,” he answers, not moving. Miles’ hands are still clasped around his. “A bit.”

“Me too.”

Oscar reaches up his other hand, reactively brushing a strand of hair out of Miles’ face.

“Honestly, how are you?”

Miles blinks a couple times, his mouth closing and opening again.

“I’ll be alright,” he settles for, and Oscar can see the conflict behind his eyes. He wonders why it’s there, and his mind returns to that morning.

Miles isn’t alright. But he’s going to be.

It’s likely the loss of blood, but Oscar doesn’t think twice before slowly pulling Miles into a hug. To his surprise, the halfling doesn’t pull away, instead resting his hands around Oscar’s waist.

“Don’t hurt yourself saving me again,” Miles mumbles into his shirt.

“Stop getting into trouble then,” Oscar retorts, though his words are lost in Miles’ hair. His eyes close as they sit there, neither of them wanting to address how unorthodox the situation is. Oscar knows that this won’t happen again, so he sighs, relishing the feeling of someone near him who isn’t interested in taking advantage of him for the night.

Miles mimics his sigh, quieter, and settles, and Oscar doesn’t move him off. Doesn’t want to. Instead, they sit for a long time, until Miles’ breathing slows and Oscar maneuvers him so that he’s laying in the bed.

Not wanting to disturb the halfling, he slides off the bed and onto the floor, leaning his back against the mattress and grabbing his mask. As he falls unconscious, he tries to keep the feeling of warmth around him, and the sound of Miles’ singing in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they lived happily ever after the end.


	6. Strange How We Fit Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar's been pining for three whole weeks, and he doesn't know what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Eric's Song - Vienna Teng.
> 
> This is the one where they kiss and it's adorable. I cry every time.

_ This is hell, _ Oscar decides, draped over a chair in a tavern.  _ This is what hell is like. _

It’s been three weeks. Three whole weeks since he had half a second to sit down and have a chat with himself about recent feelings that have been restless in his mind. Three whole weeks since he realized that  _ specific feelings _ for a certain halfling run deeper than he’d like to admit. And three whole weeks he’d been trying ever so desperately to find a sign that said halfling feels for him in return.

He’s got significantly less evidence than he’d like to.

“Hey.”

Oscar jumps, jerked out of his thoughts by the perpetrator of his turmoil standing beside him with two clear drinks.

“Here.”

He takes the glass being handed to him with a grateful smile, intending to focus on the drink. Instead, his eyes follow the halfling as he slides back into his seat.

They’re the only two left up, he can’t find it in himself to feel bad that they’re sitting there as the tavern closes for the night as he watches Miles sip his drink (likely non-alcoholic, Oscar knows how Miles is with drinking before bed). He looks down at his own drink and sure enough, clear liquid stares back at him.

“Vodka?”

They do this every time. Miles smiles a familiar smile. “Vinegar.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, sipping his water and missing the burn of alcohol. It’s far too late for it, he knows that, but oh how he’d love to forget his pestering thoughts just one more night.

“Getting sleepy?” Miles mumbles, clearly fatigued himself.

“Mm,” Oscar hums. “Don’t sleep. Can’t get sleepy.”

Miles mimics him in a mocking tone, shooting him a teasing look. “Getting… meditate-y?”

Oscar squeezes his eyes shut. “That was bad.”

He hears an annoyed huff from across the table, and peeks over to see the halfling pouting at him. “Rude.”

_ Adorable. _

“Hm,” he hums again, attempting to shake the thought. “It’s been a bit since we’ve been alone.” Oscar curses in his head when he realizes how it sounds. “I mean, without everyone around.”

Miles smiles lightly at him. “I miss it sometimes.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love having everyone around.” His quiet, awkward laugh sends warmth bubbling on Oscar’s chest. “But when it was just us, running around and getting into trouble…” he shrugs. “It was nice.”

Oscar nods, attempting to drag his eyes away from the halfling for long enough to focus on his drink. It’s gotten surprisingly difficult to focus on anything else these past few weeks. It seems that every time he opens his eyes Miles is there, laughing at something he’s said or frowning at something he’s done. He can’t focus on anything now that he’s so painfully aware of the thumping of his heart when he sees Miles and the catch of his breath when the halfling says something particularly sincere.

It excites and terrifies him to no end. He hasn’t fallen so far for anyone in a long time.

“Oscar?”

“Hm?” He realizes that the subject of his musings is still sitting across from him, and curses his thoughts for wandering.

“I asked if you wanted to turn in for the night. It’s getting late.”

“Oh,” Oscar exhales heavily, shifting in his seat in a half-stretch. “Yes, that might be good.” He drinks what’s left of his glass and stands, allowing Miles a moment to follow. They set their glasses on the bar and head upstairs.

The room is quaint as ever, tragically furnished with two beds. Three weeks ago, Oscar would have brushed off his heart sinking at the prospect of not having their common argument tonight. Miles sits on the end of the bed he’s claimed, taking off his boots and leaving them strewn. Oscar sighs and rights them on his way over to his bed, catching the halfling’s eye.

“Might as well keep everything tidy, just in case.”

Miles shakes his head with a small smile, but doesn’t protest.

Getting ready for bed is downright infuriating, and tucking into a cold,  _ separate _ bed makes Oscar feel unnaturally uncomfortable. A few hours after the lamps have been blown out he catches himself drifting into yet another daydream and sighs, turning over onto his back and throwing an arm across his face.

_ If this is hell… _ If this is hell, Oscar is allowing himself to be consumed in the flames and enjoying it.  _ Enjoying  _ it for gods’ sakes. He knows he’s being dramatic, but he can’t help the small sigh that escapes his lips at how  _ tragic _ his life has truly become. Pining is far below him, he can’t be caught doing it.

And yet, as his head tilts and his limited gaze drifts over to the other side of the room, he feels a small smile dance across his lips when he sees the halfling sleeping soundly; his small form slowly rising and falling in time with his breath. The security relaxes him, and it might be early morning but Oscar feels drowsy and content; stewing in the soft, warm feelings in his chest.

He nearly doesn't realize when Miles begins to shift uncomfortably under the blankets, and only looks over when the halfling sits bolt upright with a small sound, breathing heavily.

“Miles?” Oscar sits up as well, and the noise seems to startle the halfling even more. He attempts to get up quietly and walk over, but Miles scoots against the wall away from him.

“Miles it’s me,” he says softly, lowering his voice. “It’s Oscar.” He slowly approaches the side of the bed and slowly sits. “Are you alright?”

“Mm,” Miles attempts to answer, but breaks off. He slowly nods and drops his head onto his knees, which are now drawn tightly to his chest.

Oscar sighs and clasps his hands in his lap to stop them from reaching out of their own accord. “Nightmare?”

Miles shakes his head.

“Dream?”

He gets a small, strained sound in response, so he waits patiently. He watches Miles’s breathing calm, and slowly the halfling lifts his head so that his chin now rests on his knees.

“I thought I was over them.”

Oscar remembers when they found out the pastries were magically drugged, enticing the consumer and giving them all sorts of wonderful dreams. Miles had nearly died on several occasions due to them, and Oscar isn’t keen on recalling those memories.

“I just…” Miles sighs, his gaze fixed on the bed in front of him. “I haven’t had one in a while. A dream like that. And…” he shakes his head.

Oscar watches him for a moment. “Are you sure it wasn’t just… a regular good dream?”

Miles’s eyes flit to him, then away again. “Don’t have those.”

He shrugs. “I don’t either. But apparently they do exist.”

Miles gives him a half-hearted smile, and Oscar searches for some warmth in it. When he finds little, he frowns.

“Do you need to be close to someone, or do you need me to leave you alone?”

Miles’s gaze fixes on him then, and Oscar sees a spark of fear in his eyes. “Don’t leave.”

Oscar nods once. “I’m here.”

Miles watches him for a long moment, then squeezes his eyes shut. “Will you…” he purses his lips. “Will you jus’ c’mere?” he mumbles.

Oscar blinks, but after a moment of processing he scoots farther onto the bed and sidles up against the wall beside Miles. He’s about to sit with his back to the panelling, but after a brief thought he nudges Miles lightly and holds out his arms. The halfling falls into them surprisingly quickly, and soon he’s got two arms full of halfling leaning into his chest.

And  _ this _ . This is what they had built over months of tolerating each other and being around each other. This familiar pattern of feeling the exact moment Miles relaxes into him and when he knows Miles feels his breath catch in his chest, but doesn’t say anything about it and--

“Why do you do that?”

_ That’s new. _

“Do what?” he asks, wondering if there’s a chance his mind would quiet for long enough to think properly.

“Hold your breath every time...  _ this _ happens.”

Oscar looks down at the top of Miles’s head, then closes his eyes. “I assume you won’t believe me if I say, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about?’”

He feels Miles smile. “Not a chance.”

He heaves a sigh, pulling Miles a mere millimeter closer. He wonders if the halfling notices.

“It’s… nice,” Oscar decides on.

“Nice?”

“I don’t do this. The whole… affection thing. Doesn’t suit me.”

“Really? Seems up your alley.”

Oscar laughs a bit. “Gods no. I’m more inclined to avoid affection where I can.”

Miles shifts against him. “Doesn’t seem that way from where I am.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s because you’re, quite literally, in my arms. I can’t imagine you’d think I avoid affection when you’re receiving it as we speak.”

Miles is silent for a long moment, and Oscar thinks he may have said something wrong. But as he picks apart his last comment, he hears Miles mumble unintelligibly under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said you’re good at it for someone who avoids it.” He shifts again, settling more comfortably. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Don’t worry, you know I will.”

He feels Miles huff a laugh, rubbing a hand across his face. “Bastard.”

“You love me.”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Miles pulls himself up into a sitting position and faces Oscar, giving him a sincere smile, “but yeah, I do.”

He blinks once, twice, and then his brain lets him know very graciously that it’s going to check out.

“What? I do.” Miles says simply, poking his knee. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“The one you’re giving me! Stop it.” Miles laughs, and Oscar feels his heart swell. Surely he’s misheard. Surely Miles doesn’t love… him? No, that’s not what was said. He’s overthinking it.

“Don’t make it awkward,  _ Oscar. _ ” His name is always said like that, syllable for syllable. It sounds perfect in Miles’s voice. “We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Oscar blinks again, nods, then shakes his head. “Yeah. No, yeah. We have. I…” he clicks his tongue. “Yes. You’re right.”

“Oh.” Miles’s face drops a bit, and Oscar suddenly feels the need to make him laugh again. “Have I made it awkward?”

Oscar tilts his head. “What?”

Miles wrings his hands a bit. “I tell my friends I love them, because I do! I care about you guys and that’s how I express it. I’m sorry, if you don’t want me to say that I won’t it’s different for everyone--”

“No!” Oscar blurts, amending his tone at the startled look on Miles’s face. “I mean, no. It’s alright. I… I don’t mind at all.” He tries to push out the word  _ friends _ echoing around in his head. Friends is fine. Friends is  _ safe. _

“Well if it makes you uncomfortable…”

“It doesn’t. I assure you.”

Miles gives him a wary look. “No?”

“No,” he states with a small smile. “It’s just… ah nevermind.”

“What?”

Oscar sighs, running a hand through his hair. “We’re… friends.”

Miles hesitates. “Yeah…”

They sit in silence for a minute, then both begin to talk at the same time.

“Well I just haven’t had a lot of friends recently--”

“Well if you want to be something else--”

“What?”

Miles frowns at his statement. “Oscar, you do have friends!” And at the same time, Oscar is processing Miles’s words.

“What did you just say?”

The halfling tilts his head. “I said you do have friends! There’s Asphodel, Acheron, I’m sure Rot has warmed up to you by now it’s been--”

“No, the thing before that.”

Miles thinks for a moment, then flushes bright pink. “Oh you, you heard that.”

Oscar waves him off. “Yes, yes I have excellent hearing. What did you mean?”

Miles wrings his hands. “Nothing. It was a random thought.”

“You do know what that typically implies, do you not?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then why did you say it? I assume you’re not implying--”

“Then don’t assume,” Miles snaps at him, before reeling quickly back and covering his face. “Shit.”

Oscar opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“Shut up,” Miles mumbles.

“I haven’t said anything!” Oscar protests automatically.

“That’s good. Keep doing that.”

“Miles.”

“I was joking! I was joking.” Miles looks as if he’s come up with the best lie for the situation, and Oscar nearly finds it comedic if not for the context.

“You were… joking.”

“Yep.”

“About becoming something other than friends.”

That throws Miles. “I… ye… no I...”

Oscar has to know. He has to know and this is the time. “If you were joking, then I suppose we don’t have to talk about this?” He gestures between them.

“This?” Miles asks quietly.

“Us.”

“Us,” the halfling repeats.

“I can’t be the only one who’s noticed it.” Miles has to be able to hear his heart now. It’s pounding in his ears and he feels his hands begin to shake with anxiety. He clasps them in his lap to still them. “Please tell me I’m not the only one.”

Miles looks at him for a moment. “I don’t… what are you on about, Oscar?”

Diving into the deep end. No turning back now. “ _ This _ . Whatever…  _ feelings  _ we’ve been dancing around for the past few months. There’s something here, Miles, I can’t be the only one who sees it.”

To his surprise, and relief, the halfling slowly shakes his head. “You’re… you’re not. I… yeah. You’re a pain in the arse--”

“But you like me.”

“...yeah.”

Oscar breathes a sigh. “Thank the gods.”

“Wait.” Miles gives him an incredulous look. “Did you think I didn’t? How long have you noticed something different?”

He shrugs, despite knowing exactly how long he’s been painfully aware of their situation. “Three weeks, give or take.” Exactly three weeks.

_ “Three weeks?” _

“Yes. Why, did you notice it later?”

Miles’s mouth drops open.

“What?”

“You’ve only known for three weeks.” His tone is truly baffled, and Oscar suddenly realizes his misunderstanding.

“How long?”

“Months.”

“Gods, am I that daft?”

“Yes,” Miles laughs. “Yes you are.”

Oscar groans and hides his face in his hands. He barely even winces at the feeling of his mask, because Miles’ laughter is making him smile involuntarily. “I can’t believe this.” He suddenly grins, peering at Miles through his fingers. “I thought you said you were immune to my charms?”

Miles’s cheeks turn pink. “I… well…”

“Adorable.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but Miles flushes further.

“M’not adorable,” he says, crossing his arms and putting on a pout. Oscar smiles at him.

“Definitely adorable.”

“You can’t just-- ugh.” Miles waves his arms at Oscar. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

“Stop it.” Miles says through an embarrassed laugh, leaning closer to him. Oscar takes the opportunity to wrap him in a hug, but overestimates how quickly Miles is moving. They end up in an odd tangle, with Oscar nearly off the side of the bed and Miles draped over him.

“Oh, sorry!” Miles attempts to get up, but Oscar begins to slip.

“Hold on.” He attempts to sit up more, but manages to bump into Miles’s head. “Ow.”

“Sorry.”

“Just--” he moves his arms around Miles’s waist, skillfully rolling them back in the direction they’d fallen from. It’s at the last second Oscar catches his mask as it slips off his face. He keeps a hand on it, and stares down at Miles. “That was exciting...”

His words trail off as he notices where Miles’s eyes have fallen. Oscar knows he can cast prestidigitation, take off his mask, and lean down easily.

Oscar knows Miles won’t like it if he hides his face behind another mask.

“Take it off?” he hears Miles ask quietly.

Oscar stiffens, turning over the options in his head. He doesn’t have to think long, because the halfling follows up his thought with:

“I can’t see anything anyway.”

It’s still dark, the curtains drawn adding an extra level, and the only light comes from the dim torchlight under the door. Oscar is the only one who can see.

It’s silent for a long moment, but he knows Miles hears him take his hand away from his face, dragging his mask along with it, and leaning down until he feels Miles’s breath on his lips.

“Alright.”

And yes, breathing is a necessary thing for living beings, although Oscar has most certainly forgotten how to do it. As soon as Miles leans up to close the distance between them, everything stops to focus on this one second. The feeling of soft lips pressed against his, the delicate touch that reaches up to trace his cheek, and the hand around the back of his head pulling him ever closer. They fit together as if created simply to exist together in this one moment, and when they finally come up for air, Oscar knows both of them are smiling.

“Brilliant,” Miles whispers against his lips.

“Mhm,” Oscar says eloquently, his eyes still closed and relishing in the feeling of Miles’s forehead pressed against his own, Miles’s breath mixing with his, Miles’s hands on the back of his neck and on his cheek. Just  _ Miles. _

“It’s early,” he remarks quietly, not exactly sure where he’s going with this.

“Stay here?” Miles replies, equally soft. “M’still tired.”

_ Ah. _ He’d forgotten one of them hadn’t gotten enough rest yet. “Of course.” He slowly maneuvers himself so that he’s laying next to Miles and the halfling…  _ his _ halfling, turns to face him with an easy smile.

“See you in the morning?”

Oscar smirks. “It is morning.”

He gets a sleepy halfling shifting and snuggling closer to him in response. “You know what I mean.” Miles yawns, and Oscar wraps an arm around him.

“Sleep well.”

“Mm. I love you.”

His heart skips a beat as he realizes that… yes. “I love you too.”  


\---

Miles wakes before Oscar, sunlight coming from the covered window. In the dim light his eyes slowly open to see a relaxed, dozing elf. His hair is messily done and his ears stick over his head. Most prominently, however, are the myriad of scars that cover half of his face, scattered from forehead to jaw in an artwork telling a story Miles has never read.

He’s beautiful, truly. Not in any conventional way, but in the way a forest looks years after it’s burned down, or the way a dormant volcano blooms with life after an eruption.

Miles smiles lightly, taking in Oscar for a long moment before snuggling back up to him. He feels Oscar wake minutes later and hears a soft hum, and he knows the Oscar he’ll see once he gets up will not be the picture he’d been able to behold.

However, it’s still his Oscar. And they’re together.

And truly, that’s all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little supplemental at the end there because I realized what I did only after I did it.


End file.
